The Fifth Marauder -Marauders Era- I am Number 5
by PaigeBird
Summary: What if there was a Fifth Marauder and Animagus named Mila? What if it was up to her to save the Wizarding World with the help of her friends: James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin? What discoveries will they make? Find out here. Harry Potter FanFic. 6th Year at Hogwarts.


**Trinkets Spell Trouble **

"Mila Lal'ours, can you tell the class why you pride yourself on chatting with friends when you've hardly brewed whatever your form of Polyjuice Potion is?" Slughorn, the heaving bottomed Potion Master's voice drowned out throughout the entire lesson. But whenever he spoke my full name, it pierced my ears like knives. "10 points from Gryffindor" he spoke nonchalantly.

A few of my classmates' stifled sighs were audible to my dismay. To which I merely turned around and gave them the satisfaction of a half-hearted shrug.

"Nice going, Lapoo" Lucius Malfoy's voice rang in my ears. His silver blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and although he was devilishly attractive, he was equally nauseating. I roll my eyes at his insufferably immature joke.

"Shutup, Malfoy" my best friend James Potter snaps.

Lucius' face contorts in a way I hadn't thought plausible. But then the bell rang, indicating the end of the nuisance that was potions and I hurtled my over-the-shoulder bag toward me in an effort to head out of the dungeon door with James as quickly as possible.

"Just don't listen to him" he says as we walk through the entrance to the Great Hall for a spot of lunch.

"I never do" I toss my long blond hair which reaches my elbows to the side and smile toothily.

For lunch, my other fellow best friends form a semi-circle at the end of a nearby table: Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. All Gryffindor's, all animagus- like me. I am a part time big bold black bear. They either nickname me "Lou", French for bear, or "Berry" because when I transform, regardless of how hazardous the situation, I always manage to fuel a craving for berries.

"You know tonight's the night again, right guys?" Remus says, scoffing down a bun he's over-buttered and gulping down Pumpkin juice like it's solely water.

I can tell his nerves are shot- which they are so often on this day each month. All of ours are. I place a hand on the small of his back, "We're going to get through this" I say in a slight whisper. "Thanks" he says, looking up at me and forcing a curl at the edge of his mouth.

"Hey Mila, isn't that Bijou?" Sirius says, pointing towards where a light brown and spotted flying apparatus in the form of an owl hovers over our heads.

"I suppose it is" I say.

"Whatever he's carrying looks awfully heavy" Pettigrew confers.

I nod in agreement. I don't know who is sending such a parcel or why. I haven't a mother or father and I live with my grandmother in Hogsmeade who can hardly purchase me anything due to poverty; let alone pay the cost to send it to me in the mail.

On the parcel is an indication or slogan of some sort containing the words, "For the Greater Good". I nudge my nearby friends in unison, as in, "What the _hell _do you suppose this means"?

"That's odd. Does it say anything else on it?" questions James.

"Underneath that, the initials G.G. are written but I dunno what that stands for" I sit there, puzzled.

"Well go on…open it!" Sirius ushers.

The confinements of the wrapping paper, when disheveled and torn open, let loose 5 trinkets. One seems to be a chalice; another is a long plywood-type wand, a time turner, a children's story book, and a diadem.

"I don't understand…" I say, looking at their equally bewildered expressions.

I then find a scrap of paper intertwined in the fix. Its handwriting formulates the enticing words, "This is G.G's Will to Mila Lal'ours, whom goes by her mother's maiden name. Keep it safe. Cheers! –G.G."

"Blimey! Wh-why would someone leave_ you_ a Will? I mean no offence of course" Pettigrew mutters the last part under his breath.

He's correct in thinking that, though. There is no one whom _should _be sending me their Will.

I ponder this without really speaking to the others throughout the entirety of lunch until my brain is sore and I tell myself it's time to stop gawking at the gifts that lay before me. Perhaps this will just be a mystery left unsolved- _for now_.


End file.
